{Chapter: 34 - After the Flame}
The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
Nick didn't press the question again. He knew how to read people, and Aiden's refusal to answer spoke louder than any confession. Still, he continued, voice lowering slightly, like a weight being placed on the room itself. "Johnny didn't have the best temperament, sure. But he was a hero. And heroes… they matter. Not just for what they can do, but for what they represent."
He turned slightly, hands still behind his back, staring out toward the other end of the deck as if watching distant enemies already approaching.
"The Fantastic Four are vulnerable without him. Their enemies will come sniffing. Victor Von Doom. Mad Thinker, Psycho-Man, Puppet Master. Even those petty alien warlords watching from the fringes… they all wait for weakness. And now, they'll smell it."
Nick Fury didn't show emotion often, but he wasn't heartless. For all his tactical brilliance and ruthless pragmatism, he understood the value of keeping his people intact. Johnny Storm may have been reckless and arrogant, but he was family to the others.
Aiden's expression remained calm, but inside, he was calculating. He had gone through great lengths to orchestrate the encounter with Johnny. He knew the risks. He had baited the hothead, provoked him just enough, created the perfect storm for the Human Torch to make a foolish move—one that Aiden could claim was in self-defense. And once the fight began, the outcome had been inevitable.
If he had simply stolen Johnny's powers without provocation, the response would have been swift and overwhelming. SHIELD, the Fantastic Four, even the Avengers—they would've hunted him down. A united front of Earth's mightiest heroes descending upon him in righteous fury. Aiden wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Nick Fury glanced back over his shoulder. "The rest of the Fantastic Four will be arriving soon. Prepare yourself."
Aiden finally stirred, brushing dust from his jacket. "Sure," he muttered. "You guys have your talk with them. I've had enough of this farce for one day. Haven't even caught a single hour of sleep since the mission."
He yawned exaggeratedly and turned toward the open window, giving Fury a small wave. "I'll be taking a nap on the Helicarrier. Let me know when Miss Susan's sobered up." Then he walked away from the meeting room.
Fury gave the tiniest shake of his head. "Agent Romanoff. Show our guest to a room. Make sure he's… comfortable."
---
The Helicarrier was a marvel of engineering, a fortress of steel and sky suspended far above the world. As Aiden wandered its corridors, his eyes scanned everything—not with awe, but with curiosity. To a stranger, it might seem like he was just sightseeing. But Aiden had the eyes of a predator.
He studied every camera, every vent shaft, every exit, every armed agent pretending not to watch him. SHIELD's security was airtight—polished steel, retinal scanners, agents bred for paranoia—but Aiden knew better than to trust bright lights and uniforms. He walked its halls like a man who belonged, hands in his pockets, every step casual, confident, calm.
Trailing behind him like a silk shadow was Natasha Romanoff—lethal in heels, her presence barely stirring the air. If danger had a scent, it would wear her perfume.
"I was wondering when you'd show," Aiden said smoothly without turning, his tone carrying the lazy charm of someone who'd just poured himself a glass of vintage wine. "Let me guess—surveillance duty? Or are you just following me because you missed my cologne?"
Natasha's voice came after a pause, quiet and liquid with a bite of ice. "It's not about trust. It's about control. And you, darling, are the kind of variable that keeps people like Fury up at night."
He chuckled, slow and amused, like she'd just told him a dirty secret. "Mm. Now that's flattering. I always hoped I could be someone's insomnia. But it would have been great if it was a woman as beautiful as you."
They moved down the hallway in tandem, footsteps silent on steel. The humming of engines vibrated beneath their feet, while agents made a point of pretending not to watch them pass.
Natasha's voice slid in again, lower this time, like silk over skin. "You provoked Johnny. On purpose. You played him like a violin."
Aiden stopped. He turned, leisurely, as if her accusation were just another conversation over cocktails. His eyes found hers, gleaming with that dangerous glint of amusement laced with something darker.
"Provoked?" he echoed. "That's such a strong word. I prefer... inspired."
Her lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You knew exactly what buttons to push."
"And he pushed back." Aiden's voice dropped into something smooth and velvet. "With fire. With rage. It was beautiful. Almost... intimate."
She crossed her arms, expression unreadable, but her gaze remained sharp. "You needed a stronger source of flame. You needed something stronger. Something purer. Pyro was junk food. Johnny? That was the real meal, wasn't it?"
Aiden didn't deny it. He let her words hang in the air for a moment before replying, his voice quiet but edged.
He gave her a slow, exaggerated shrug. "What can I say? I have a taste for the finer things. Doesn't everyone?"
"You don't feel even a little bad about it?"
"Would you, if the roles were reversed?" he asked, stepping a little closer. "Besides, he came at me first. Glowing fists, no warning. If he hadn't tried to turn me into charcoal, If Johnny hadn't been so arrogant… if he hadn't charged me without thinking, fists blazing… if he had listened… none of this would've happened. He gave me the opening and I have taken a bite out of his flame."
Natasha stared at him, searching for something in his expression. Guilt. Regret. Even a flicker of emotion. But there was none. Only cold logic, buried in careful words.
Natasha tilted her head slightly, her voice lowering. "You're dangerous."
Aiden smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes. "So are you. That's why we get along."
There was a moment of electric silence—crackling tension that neither of them moved to break.
Finally, Natasha spoke, voice back to business, but the edge of heat still lingered beneath the words. "Coulson's inbound. I'll get you a room. Try not to set anything on fire while I'm gone."
He winked. "No promises. But if you're offering to keep me company... I might behave."
"I don't babysit," she said, but her smirk gave her away.
Aiden turned and strolled toward the hallway like he hadn't just undressed her with words. "Wake me up when things get interesting. Or if you change your mind about that babysitting thing."
Behind him, Natasha watched with narrowed eyes and the faintest smirk tugging at her lips—like a lioness amused by a particularly clever gazelle.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
---
The room was small, but clean. Spartan walls, one bed, a desk, a reinforced window showing the clouds drifting slowly by outside. A surveillance camera blinked silently in the upper corner. There were likely more bugs or bombs embedded in the walls, maybe even biometric trackers in the bed. Aiden didn't care.
He lay back, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
He knew SHIELD wouldn't make a move against him—yet. He was valuable. His power made him an asset in a world where threats came from other planets, hidden realms, and hell dimensions. As long as Nick Fury saw potential in him, Aiden would be safe.
Since he has a lot of value in terms of combat power, Nick Fury will try to retain or use him as long as he has value. But it doesn't matter; wasn't he using SHIELD's influence to sort out his mess with the Fantastic Four?
But only for now.
Aiden closed his eyes, breathing slow and even. He wasn't SHIELD's soldier. He never would be.
He was only here to clean up his own mess.
And when the time came… he'd burn it all down.